


Wind Makes Me Shiver

by imahira



Series: It's not the bullet that kills you but the way it passes through [4]
Category: Rookies - Morita Masanori & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon - Manga, Cuddling, M/M, POV Second Person, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28143912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imahira/pseuds/imahira
Summary: The trip doesn't happen exactly as planned, and neither does the alternative.
Relationships: Hiratsuka Taira/Imaoka Shinobu
Series: It's not the bullet that kills you but the way it passes through [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962016





	Wind Makes Me Shiver

You couldn't take him around the world, but your parents—both pairs—paid for two trips inside Japan. A week at a hotel near a mountain, and now this place. Hiracchi liked being on top of the mountain (not so much the bus ride up), and there are a bunch of pictures on your camera of him posing against the view. He let you be in a couple. He asked five different times when you were getting them developed and didn't listen to the answer.

A couple of days ago, you got to this hotel, and he stopped asking about the pictures. On Monday he went out on the beach and told you a bunch of things about sun exposure and vitamins, and had you take a picture of something he said was a shark fin but was actually nothing. Today you woke up to the TV, and when you came up with some toast and a couple of different fishes on a plate, he wasn't in his bed anymore.

The idea with the two trips is that your parents are relieved you managed to graduate, so they'll pay for this, and when you come back you have to stop being crazy and think about your futures. So the hotels aren't the super fancy ones. This one has a cute fish with big eyes on the carpet. Its middle part is covered by the bed, so you're not sure what kind of fish it is. Hiracchi's lying on top of the eyes, and he doesn't look interested in breakfast.

The way he's spread out is too dramatic to be hurt, but also too listless to be the usual kind of tantrum. This is his new kind of tantrum. Which you feel bad thinking of as a tantrum, since there's an actual reason for it. But it's hard to think of a better word.

"Hiracchi."

He doesn't answer, except for a noise that sounds like _Unggh_.

"I brought breakfast. Why are you on the floor?"

"'Cause I can't get up."

"Why can't you get up?"

"I don't wanna."

You set the food down on his bed. It feels like giving up, but sometimes there's nothing else to do. "Do you want sex?"

"No."

"A blowjob?"

"Do I have to get up?"

You sigh. The carpet's probably gross, but it's all over him now anyway. "I guess not."

Hiracchi spreads his legs apart as far as he can between the bed and the dresser. "...No," he says after a moment. "I don't wanna."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Leaving his legs spread out sadly, he adds, "Maybe I'm dying."

You really should've read him that infographic about PTSD. "No, you're fine. You're just sad."

"Describe my funeral. What kind of flowers?"

He sounds way too interested to be dying.

"Why would I be the one planning your funeral? You need to eat something."

"You can't talk to anyone there. You're gonna be rude about me."

"Stop talking about your funeral." You dangle a piece of fish over his head, hoping to make him look up. "You're fine."

He doesn't look up, and he doesn't say anything for a long time. "I think I caught something."

He's not sniffling, or throwing up, and most importantly, it's always the same thing now when he starts acting weird. "Are you thinking about..." You pause, trying to let him get ready before you actually say it. "...what happened?"

"A little. Not really. No."

He is. "Is it something that started today?"

"I was sick yesterday. I powered through it."

"Do you... not like grownup men anymore?" you venture.

"Of course I do. I am one."

"I mean real grownups. 'Cause you said—you know. That's who did it."

"No. That's stupid." He turns his head suddenly. "Wait, no. That's it." Rolling onto his back, he looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I hate men now."

Any kind of moving must be progress. This is the Depression part of that checklist. You're supposed to make him feel supported, and that'll fix it for a while.

"So we're complete opposites," Hiracchi says, sounding more proud than he needs to. "How'd you know?"

"You've just been all jumpy. I think it's when there's lots of men around. Mostly since we got here."

"I guess." He's silent. "Yeah, 'cause I was fine before. Everyone at school was a normal guy."

He wasn't fine, exactly, but he didn't mind crowds. Hiracchi's never minded crowds until yesterday.

He was almost normal when you were staying at the mountain hotel. You're pretty sure, anyway. Being alone with Hiracchi is nice, but it means you start forgetting what actual normal is. There's an adjustment to be made inside your head, kind of like a math formula, but fun. Normal person's normal + X = Hiracchi's normal. Minus Y equals Hiracchi right now.

On top of the mountain, he was the way he used to be. Except when he put his arm around you and squeezed while you were showing him the little previews of the pictures on the camera's screen. That was new. But he was practically jumping up and down by then, and it was just for a second, so it wasn't on purpose. You took another fifty pictures after that, and you would've done it even if he faked it to get you to take more.

Other than that, he was pretty much the same as he used to be.

"It's probably 'cause being here is bringing back bad memories."

"Nothing happened here."

"No, but it's called trauma. Like that thing soldiers get when they go to really bad war zones? I'm pretty sure you have some."

Hiracchi absorbs that for a few seconds. "That's pretty cool."

"Um," you say. "It's pretty bad, actually, but guys can get it too, if something bad happens to them. If you were worried about that."

"I'd be a good soldier," Hiracchi says, to the ceiling.

"You don't even like doing what signs tell you."

"Well, I'd be more of a general. No, I could be one of those one-man-army guys who storms in with a rocket launcher. I make my own marching orders."

"You'd be terrible at all of that." You snap the toast in half. It's getting cold. He's not gonna eat it now even if he is hungry. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. There's no war to be in."

"We're all at war," Hiracchi says, vaguely.

You look down at the toast. "Maybe."

He doesn't seem completely depressed. You could throw the toast at him, but you'd be the one picking it up for sure. Or the maid might get mad at you for the crumbs.

"Do you know what's making you upset? Besides the men? Something that started here."

"I don't like how it smells."

"The beach?"

"Everything. It all smells gross. And I hate how the sky looks when it's getting dark." You can guess why, but you let him keep talking. "It was dark when I was walking back. And I didn't have my key and the guy at the desk looked at me all weird."

He goes silent then, face drooping to one side into the carpet shag.

"You can keep talking about it. I read sharing makes you feel better." You had to read an article to let you know that people like talking to each other. When you're dealing with the last person on earth who ever has to be encouraged to share.

"No."

"I don't wanna _know_ or anything, it's just if it makes you feel better. It's supposed to."

"No."

"Well..." Maybe you'll eat some of the fish. He can go downstairs if he wants a full meal. "Why not? You love talking." The napkin's not big enough to spread on your lap, but you're gonna change later anyway.

"You're gonna make fun of me."

The worst kind of jolt goes through your stomach. Like an actual electric shock. Not that hard, but it leaves you feeling like your hands and feet are in the wrong place.

"I wouldn't make fun of you about this."

"You're gonna figure out the part where I was dumb and you're gonna make fun of me."

"No, I'm not."

"You are."

"Well, don't tell me, then." You smush the napkin into the fish. Fish juice soaks through it and feels gross on your hand. "If you're so sure."

"I wasn't gonna," Hiracchi says, serenely.

The paper plate bent a little. Not too badly. But the fish smell's getting on your nerves now. You should've grabbed more napkins to cover the food up. Hiracchi looks at peace with living on the floor now. He can stay there for a little longer.

There aren't any paper towels in the bathroom, but the fish-napkin combination flushes easily. People probably get fish in the pipes all the time at the beach. Maybe live fish even swim up the pipes from the ocean.

You forgot to put the cap back on the toothpaste that you took from the other hotel. It's probably okay to use even though you didn't put the lid down when you flushed the fish. The fish were clean enough to eat, after all. Hiracchi shoved everything free from the last hotel into his bag, including the stuff you didn't use. Plus a towel, you're pretty sure, but he was so cheerful about it that it felt like he'd earned it.

All the complimentary stuff from this hotel is still sitting by the sink. The second towel's still hanging on the bar, untouched. Even the second face towel is dry.

You poke your head out the door, already knowing the answer. "Did you use the shower at all?"

"I peed in it overnight."

Well, that was the second question.

"While you were using it?"

"No."

"You stood outside the shower and peed in it?"

"I hate hotel showers."

Counting slowly to five, you accept that you're the worst person in the world, and then try to sound normal as you ask, "You wanna rest your head?"

"Mm-hm."

"I'm gonna wipe your face off first."

"Mmmph."

You run the water warm before sticking the face towel underneath, and squeeze it out carefully so part of the towel stays dry. He doesn't move his face when you wipe it off, first with the wet part and then the dry part. You toss the towel into the bathroom so you don't have to get back up, and he lets you lift his head up and scoot your lap underneath.

After a few seconds he turns over and buries his face in your lower stomach. "You smell like the last hotel. That was fine."

Hiracchi's head always makes your hands feel cold. He doesn't mind you squishing his face when he's in your lap. Sometimes he sticks his tongue out, but now he just stays still except for his hands squeezing into your lower back.

"I'm sorry we came here. You could've told me. I would've said I wanted to go somewhere else."

"I didn't know. It doesn't even make sense. I like the beach."

"It's your brain. It thinks you're at the other beach, 'cause of the trauma."

"That's dumb."

You're not sure whether to agree with that. "At least you're not mad anymore."

"No, that was better." He pulls his legs up and squeezes into a ball. "This sucks."

You rub the back of his neck for a while. He doesn't talk or say anything, but you can tell he's not asleep. You wish you'd turned the TV on so you could keep from thinking about him alone in the shower. There's nothing you can do and he doesn't like you enough to talk about it.

You're not sure how long it's been when you speak again. "Hiracchi, my legs are going to sleep. I'll go get you some more breakfast, okay?"

"Not hungry."

"You'll feel better if you eat. You can have anything. I'll get you dessert if you want."

He refuses to look up. "Don't wanna chew."

"How about soup?"

"Too much work."

"With a straw."

He thinks about that, letting his knees extend a little. "Everything else smells bad in here. You have to stay."

"I'll hurry."

"Then you're gonna spill my soup." Without pausing, he takes a huge deep breath and lets go of your back. "I'll stay in your bed. There's less hotel in there." He shoots up and dives into your bed with surprising speed.

"What do I smell like?"

"I'onno. Nothing."

Usually he'd say you smell like shit, or some kind of gross animal. You can't tell sometimes if he's just tired now, or if he's different forever. Maybe you shouldn't think of it as _usually_.

Hand on the door, you turn back to look at him before you leave. "You really think I'd make fun of you?"

"I'd make fun of me." He burrows down into your bed until you can't see his face anymore. The only light is from the hotel's lighting, you notice. Neither of you ever opened the curtains.

You read that sunlight is good for depression, but you promised to hurry and get him his soup.

Hiracchi perks up a little when he smells the soup. He reaches feebly for the bowl and arranges himself in a sitting position against the pillows you stack behind him.

"Thank you," he says, pitifully, "for the straw."

He makes it sound like an ailing feudal lord being handed a drink by his retainer. It's so rare for him to thank anyone that you don't even register at first that he means you.

"Oh," you say after a second. "Uh, thanks. I mean, you're welcome."

"You don't know basic manners," Hiracchi says, around the straw, "and it's sad."

"Sorry." You forgot a napkin this time, and that's probably going to be a mistake.

"You can go pick up one of those guys if you want." The ailing lord giving the retainer his final orders for after he dies. Then he slurps a loud mouthful of soup up through the straw. "If you get bored. No, wait, you can't. I might want lunch."

"One of _what_ guys?"

"On the beach. The ones you were checking out."

You give him a quick look to see if he's kidding. He's examining the bottom of the soup bowl, completely unconcerned. "I wasn't checking any guys out."

"You were looking at every guy. I figured that's why your parents sent you here."

"Looking at people on the beach is normal! It's what I always do."

"Yeah, I'll bet." He slurps again. "I said you can't. Did you get that?"

"I wasn't gonna." You've always watched people on the beach. It doesn't have anything to do with how you like Hiracchi now. You pretty much only like him anyway. There's no reason you'd be checking anyone out.

"Then you won't care who was looking back." Hiracchi drops the straw and drinks out of the bowl for a few long seconds. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he sets the bowl down for you to take care of and slowly wilts to the left. "You said this would help."

"I'm not a doctor, I just read an article. Don't knock the bowl over." Scooping the bowl up, you leave it on the bedside table—if he complains about the smell you'll know he's feeling better—and clamber over his knees to catch him on the other side. Nobody was looking at you, and you don't care if anyone _was_.

"Rrrmm."

"Yeah," you tell him.

"I don't feel better." The way he buries his face in your lap is like a toddler trying to cry, or a dog trying to get its head patted. It also feels like something you always pictured a married couple doing. After a hard day at work, maybe.

You feel bad about enjoying it. And for thinking about how cute he is. He's curled up around you like a shrimp. "You'd feel worse if you were hungry." The day-old gel in his hair is starting to give out, and you pinch one of the limp spots back into place.

After a while he turns his face to the side to breathe, and his words come out partly muffled. "I don't wanna go out."

"I'm not going anywhere."

His shoulders relax for a second, then tense up, and he tries to speak but stops. He doesn't want you to think he likes this. You rub his shoulder blade until he turns his face back into your lap.

"You want the TV?"

He makes a sound into your lap, then turns his head and says, more clearly, "No. But you better put it on or you'll get bored."

Nothing on TV is interesting, but it's something to listen to out of one ear as Hiracchi slowly uncurls and falls asleep next to you. After a while it's safe to get up and go to the bathroom.

You were relieved about the double beds—not that your parents would have gotten you a room with anything else. But _if_ you'd had one bed. It might've made Hiracchi uncomfortable. You've never spent the night together in a real double bed. And it seems rude to jerk off with him right there, since you're gonna be thinking about him.

It's not like it was super hot letting him be sad in your lap. It's just lonely now that it's down to you and the TV. And he hasn't needed sex in a while. Eventually he won't need you for that at all. Once he's better.

You turn your head away from the shower while you're busy. Sometimes you can't help thinking about him while _that_ was happening, and you have a rule where you're not allowed to finish if that pops into your head. It's not that you like the idea. It's just that you think about him so much, and he can't help thinking about it, so you end up thinking about it.

You never feel like finishing if you think about that anyways. It makes you feel sick. And you're glad it does, because otherwise you'd be scared that you think about it at all.

This time you think about him resting his head in your lap and holding your hand. You can't picture how his eyes would look, if he was looking up at you and thinking just about you, so it's the side of his head you're looking at. He squeezes your hand during sex sometimes, so you add that in.

Near the end, without meaning to, you think about a boy you saw on the beach with long hair and a Toho U t-shirt. He doesn't look anything like Hiracchi, and he's skinny, and he's probably at a different hotel. You don't want anything from him, because you can't let Hiracchi wake up alone. He's easy to imagine, though. He probably smiles a lot and kisses after sex. Maybe he has a girlfriend at home.

You still haven't looked up how gay people find each other. It's not an instinctive thing like you always thought—when you did think about that, which wasn't often. You spend most of your time thinking about Hiracchi now. Although honestly, that's all you did before, too.

The skinny boy from Toho U works better than you'd expected, and you feel guilty afterwards even though you're not cheating on Hiracchi or anything. It feels like maybe you don't really like him, if you can think about another guy.

But maybe he wouldn't like you jerking off to him. He should be able to guess it's what's happening, since you told him and he knows you like the sex. Or maybe, because it's Hiracchi, he won't know unless you tell him.

The hotel room's window doesn't look out on the beach, and you don't want to open it up in case the salty air wakes Hiracchi up. The smell's soured for you now, too. You can see some trees, and they're more fun to look at than the wallpaper. Instead of the sea, there's a variety show playing on TV. Maybe it'd be weird to hear the sea while you're looking at trees.

"Imaokaaa."

You shut the curtains quickly. "Are you hungry again?"

"No. Come charge the bed up, it's wearing off."

"You were sleeping fine."

"But I'm not now. It stinks in here."

You don't mind getting back in bed with him. Correcting him is just a habit. "Let me get my PJs on. Think about what you want for lunch."

"I woke up 'cause I'm dressed," Hiracchi decides. "I forgot last night."

You can't fix what's wrong, but you can keep things from getting worse. He buries his face in your chest as you're pulling the sheet up, like he isn't bigger and taller than you. It's hard to appreciate that his shirt's off now, since you just got off. Instead it makes you feel kind of like his mom.

"How come you're doing this?" he says into your chest.

"I don't mind. I want you to feel better."

"Are you getting off on it?"

"No. I just like you."

He sniffs you suspiciously. "Yeah, you are."

"That was different. I went in the bathroom."

"Hmph." He sniffs again and seems to decide you're telling the truth. "I wouldn't do any of this for you."

"Well," you say, rubbing his back a little, "you don't wanna be friends with yourself, do you?"

"No," he says, so quickly it makes you laugh. "Fuck off. Look, you can get off or whatever, but you can't tell _anyone_ about this."

"Why would I start telling now?"

"It's stupid. It doesn't fit my image."

You want to tell him he doesn't have an image, but he's right. This doesn't fit anyone's image.

"It's not stupid. It's your trauma."

"It's pathetic. If you tell anyone I'm gonna kill you."

"I promise I won't tell anyone." What's really pathetic is that you've been best friends for seven years and you don't have any way to make him believe you. And it's not entirely his fault. "You don't have to kill me. It's just like—like I'm staying at the zoo after it closes. And seeing all the animals asleep."

He growls softly, thinking about that. "Like the tigers," he says, after a moment.

"Or the hippos."

"No."

"Hippos are fierce," you explain.

"Noooo." He shoves his face into your chest even harder, and it's so cute it makes your heart hurt a little. Part of you wants to hold him right there forever, even if he tries to move. But his voice is so genuinely sad that you rub his back instead, making sure not to squeeze his head and make him feel trapped.

"Or tigers. All kinds of animals." You reach for the remote with your other arm. "You wanna watch an animal show?"

He bites your pajama top gently, which means _Whatever_ , so you flip channels until you find something about some pandas that don't want to have sex. You rub his back and shoulders and listen to the cute mournful noises he makes every now and then. The pandas never get any closer, but you think you feel Hiracchi's stomach move a little when the narrator makes a terrible dirty joke. You'll bring him a big early dinner instead of making him get up for lunch.

It's like taking care of a hurt animal. It needs to be fed and kept warm and stopped from chewing its wounds back open. And once it feels better, it's not gonna love you back or keep  
on needing you. You could pet it now, while it can't get away, but you don't want to feel it shaking and scared.

You want it to be able to run away again, once it's ready to leave you. That's the whole point.


End file.
